‘No,’ she said vehemently, sitting up and leaning forwards, the sudden burn in her eyes scything through the numb chill he’d lived with for so long. ‘Your parents’ death was a tragedy, and there was nothing anyone could have done about that, but you were let down by a whole host of people who should have done more. You were what, eleven, twelve, when you started running away?’
‘About that.’
‘They should have tried harder. Someone should have fought for you. You should not have been allowed to slip through the net.’
Maybe she was right, he thought, the tension gripping his body easing a fraction. He’d been little more than a child. He’d been dealt an impossibly tough hand and he’d had no idea how to play it.
‘And as for your later actions,’ she continued in the same fierce tone, ‘I suspect you’ve been trying to atone for them ever since.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The donation to the consul’s wife’s charity for homeless children. What other charities do you support, Rico?’
Plenty. Anonymously where possible and always at a distance. ‘A few.’
‘I thought so. I bet you’ve done an immense amount of good over the years.’
‘It will never be enough.’
‘You have to forgive yourself.’
‘That’s easier said than done.’
‘But not impossible. If I can, you can.’
He frowned. ‘I thought you said you knew you weren’t to blame.’
‘That was after the therapy,’ she said. ‘Initially, I blamed everyone for what happened to me but the person responsible. I was livid at having been discovered. I’d considered myself so sophisticated, so much more interesting and mature than everyone else. I accused Georgie of being jealous and my parents of not wanting me to be happy. When the scales finally fell from my eyes, thanks to the therapy, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. I hated that he’d had the power to do that to me and that I’d been so easy to manipulate. I swore that I would never allow it to happen again, and it hasn’t. So I know all about shame and guilt and grubbiness.’
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘In this old thing?’
‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ And the strongest. Whereas he felt utterly weak and drained. The ground beneath his feet was unstable and he suddenly felt strangely adrift, which was why he turned his attention to something he could hold on to, something he did understand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
* * *
Rico did an excellent job of attempting to wear Carla out, but while he slumbered away on the bed, of which he now seemed to hog less and upon which he now barely twitched, sleep eluded her.
While she sat on the balcony watching the sparkle of moonlight on the water, their conversation ran through her head as if on a never-ending loop, the details of which she didn’t think she’d ever forget.
Her throat closed and her eyes prickled just to think about it. Her heart was in tatters for the boy he’d been, for all the children all over the world who one way or another slipped through the net. She couldn’t imagine the loneliness he must have felt. The terror and the confusion and the hunger, the fear of which he still clearly carried with him. And all the while struggling to come to terms with the death of his parents.
His detachment and desire to move through life on his own made so much sense now. No wonder he kept himself apart and relied on no one but himself. No wonder he didn’t form attachments when he’d experienced the destruction they could bring. She could totally understand why he didn’t want to look back and why he had no mementos of the past he’d spent a long time trying to forget. He’d been exploited and abused, manipulated and badly let down. Who’d want to remember that?
How on earth had he had the strength to survive? she wondered, her chest tightening as she tried and failed to imagine the horror and brutality he’d been a part of. She’d always thought that she’d had a rough time of growing up, but compared to his experiences, hers had been a walk in the park. She’d had people looking out for her, even if she hadn’t appreciated it at the time. Rico had undergone hell and, with the exception of the judge who’d given him a way out, had had no one on his side, no one fighting his corner.
He’d learned how to hide it, and hide it well, but once upon a time he’d been as vulnerable as her and just as easy to prey upon. He knew as well as she did what it was like to be manipulated and exploited. Was that why she had the feeling that he instinctively got her? Was that why when he called her beautiful she didn’t inwardly cringe as usual but deep down purred instead? Compliments, which could be flimsy, easily given and weren’t to be trusted, had always made her uncomfortable, but when they came from Rico—was she really the most beautiful woman he’d ever met?—they made her melt.
In fact, she thought, something in her chest shifting and settling, everything about him made her melt. His strength. His resilience. His innate if reluctant chivalry and the way he’d taken care of her after her bag had been stolen, even though she’d resisted with every bone in her body.
Even if he couldn’t figure out what the judge had seen in him, she could. She saw a frightened, grieving child who’d found himself in a situation of indescribable torment. She saw an indomitable will to survive by any means necessary, and the inherent good that had made him the incredible man he was today.
‘What are you doing out here?’
His deep, rumbling voice broke into her swirling thoughts and she turned to see him standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.
Feeling strangely giddy, her heart thumping unusually fast, Carla got to her feet and undid the belt of her robe. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to dwell on the way the foundations of her existence seemed to be shifting. She just wanted to feel. So she put a hand on his chest and gave him a little push and they tangoed back until he was lying on the bed and she was straddling him, his towel having been discarded en route.